Frustration
by KKSunny
Summary: Work or sex? Which one holds the greatest burden? USUKUS Twoshot Yaoi
1. Chapter 1

Summary: _Work or sex? Which one holds the greatest burden?_

**Pairing:** United Kingdom/Arthur Kirkland x United States of America/Alfred F. Jones

**Genre:** Romance, Yaoi, Slice of Life

**POV:** Arthur Kirkland, Third person

Disclaimer: All characters used belong to 日丸屋秀和 Himaruya Hidekazu and the world/history

I hope you enjoy. C:

First chapter begins with USUK...

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><p>.<p>

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Another late-night work session and Arthur was disappointed in himself for letting the situation get so out-of-hand.

His good mate, Alfred, has always been seen round-shouldered over paperwork, surrounded by a city of white columns neatly stacked with obvious care. The night was at its prime. Sad grey bags surely developed underneath his eyes by now, not growing any tighter with replenished peachy skin. Even the rest of the bloody American seemed to dither from its usual perky glow. And even if he were perky, it has toned down so drastically, Arthur would offend the situation by ever calling it a nuisance.

Every few minutes, a heavy sigh drenched in horrid stress emanated from the troublesome blonde who for some unusual reason didn't care to take off his brown leather bomber jacket as he worked – surely he'd catch an illness making that mistake: the weather was warm enough as it was. To Arthur, as he spied his mate down, peeking over the top of the beige sofa, watching Alfred shake out his strained, over-worked hand seemed to him a slight break, in which his thick brows tensed and furrowed in worry when that hand would return ever more powerfully back to work. Alfred really ought to give himself larger portions of breaks, even if they weren't frequent. Anything would do.

"It's past midnight," Arthur suggested, pitching out his bait for the man looming over his desk. When the blonde dodged his reply and simply carried on scribbling whatever it was he was writing, Arthur continued, masking the possible blunder of embarrassment by dismissing himself. "I'll... be off to bed... Goodnight."

Silence.

_He wouldn't even get to see him in the morning._

As Arthur burrowed into his bed, cocooning his knackered body into the white sheets, choking the hems anxiously as he brought them close under his clean chin, his thoughts turned to the worst as he visualised an empty bed by the time he'd wake up when the sun finally made its appearance. A sigh waded past his teeth and he rolled over, filching the sheets with him as he faced the opposite direction of his mate's presence across from the other room. An undying feeling of loneliness panged throughout him, offering him a mourned sleep.

That man was going to be the death of him one day.

...

By the time Arthur roused in his bed, ill of proper rest, he decided his cocoon of sheets were too comfortable to break free from. His eyes were stubborn to open, anyway. What time was it? Surely there was sleep in his eyes: How long was his rest? Not enough to conjure a dream...

As painful as it was to sit up, Arthur reluctantly escaped his sheets and pried his eyes open, groggily scanning the area. Immediately, he drew to the empty space beside him. This bed was too big for just one soul.

Picking himself up, his legs not willing to hold him steady, Arthur staggered toward the portal dividing his bedroom to the open living room where immediately he spotted the blonde whose hair frayed as if electricity struck him. He was still working away as feverishly as ever...

"Were you up all night?" Arthur enquired, his voice scratchy as he raked his hand through his dishevelled sandy blonde hair, leaning against the frame of his bedroom door, narrow, tired old eyes enduring its awakening.

Alfred numbly nodded his head.

Finally. At least it was something.

"Isn't your arse sore at all from sitting down so long?" Arthur attempted, smirking at his own stupid joke. Was it even a joke at all? No one was laughing. A good laugh would have substituted well enough as a response. But the room fell silent. Arthur ditched the frame and approached Alfred whose neck seemed unbearably rigid in its arch over the desk. It would raise a horrid hunch on the man if he kept that up.

"You know, Alfred," Arthur brought up, not even caring at this point whether he'd receive a response or not – it was to be expected, anyway. "You're the most hard-working, extraneous man I've ever met. You weren't always like this."

Alfred kept scribbling. Arthur amusedly ran a finger down the other's nape, inspecting whether it would splinter under his touch. A sharp slap and he retracted his hand. At least the American wasn't completely dead in work.

"You really are different..." Arthur muttered; boring his emerald eyes at the back of Alfred's head, examining the flow of short blonde hair until it thinned to a stop halfway down his nape. His tolerance was diluting. "No man works as hard as you."

The Briton thought himself clever and walked off toward their shared kitchen, pinching himself something to snack on as an excuse for a proper breakfast. Upon his return, he wasn't surprised to see Alfred at least adjusting in his creaking office chair. He should wedge a pillow underneath himself. It would ease _something_.

The sofa welcomed Arthur as he sat down, chewing away at whatever made itself between his fingers. He found himself staring at Alfred's hunched-over form. It was disappointing whenever Arthur ever needed to do a similar routine just about every day when he comes across his own line of work. This week he had given himself a break from a good few months full of something to do; to do paperwork, taxes: all sorts of tiring rubbish.

"Do you want me to make you some tea, Alfred?" The Englishman propounded, leaning his chin on the top of the sofa, feeling it sink in against his weight.

Again, Alfred didn't bother replying.

Although this sort of thing happened a lot recently, Arthur remained irked by this common silence. He was on break, he deserved a bit of entertainment. He decided to get up again after finishing his make-shift, sorry excuse for a breakfast and rose up to the kitchen once again, cleaning a little as he went, while turning on the kettle. The flat soon flooded with the pot's alarming screech which cut short as Arthur poured himself his morning tea, not bothering for a second mug – only then recalling that Alfred despised tea.

"Will it ever be in your ability to finish all that bothersome work soon, Al?" Arthur questioned upon his return, setting his cup onto a proper coaster latent over the coffee table in front of the sofa.

Silence once more.

He was expecting as much.

Arthur let out a sharp sigh, skirting over to Alfred once again, immediately kneading the man's probably aching back, propping his elbows over the low black leather seat. At least he didn't fight back this time... Arthur leaned in, peeking over the American's shoulders, scanning over his business, seeing this and that of tedious paperwork. At least the load under Alfred's fountain pen was thinning. Arthur continued his massage, turning up the pressure and digging his knuckles into the man's back, seeing no resistance. An amused smile flitted over his mouth as he leaned back; perturbed Alfred might catch his cheeky intentions.

"I know you're focused and I'm sure you have an approaching deadline some when soon but – Oh dear; you _do_ have thick knots in your shoulders – 'tis good to take breaks every now and again. How many times must I remind you of this, Alfred?"

"You're distracting me."

Arthur's eyes lazily blared in mock astonishment, his fingers hesitant a moment until shortly recovering, composing himself, shrugging it off.

"I suppose you're requesting me to stop?" His fingers slackened, acting unsure, "But you're so tense..."

"I never said that." Alfred remarked without peeling his eyes away from his work, still scribbling away. "Just you speaking so much is distracting me."

Arthur's heavy sigh slid out between his teeth and embraced the other's exposed nape, eliciting an even heavier sigh out of the American who dotted his sentence with a final full stop before pushing back his wheeled seat. His glazed-over eyes didn't notice the quick retract of grey socked feet

"Oi! - you could have run over my bloody toes if I hadn't—"

Alfred finally arose, holding his exhausted face, suspending his breath a stitch and stretching his taut muscles, squealing softly as he went, gusting out a deep breath as if he'd just resurfaced from a gaseous room. Not fully attentive, a blurry vision of a figure arrayed in yellows, dots of green and slots of brown. Did he misplace his glasses...?

"Oh, so I take it you're finally finished?" Arthur ridiculed gruffly, recovering from the ricochet of shock. The American didn't reply, instead pinching at his eyes to ease their weariness. He would be smiling as goofy as ever any minute now, just to mask from his stress – like per-usual...

"Or are you taking my advice?" The Englishman huffed vehemently and returned to his tea, picking it up, examining its ardent heat before taking a sip. It was as perfect as ever. Alfred was missing out.

"Bed."

Dubious, Arthur glanced over, one eyebrow lifting toward the ceiling.

"Whut?"

"Bed." Alfred repeated, his voice held between momentousness and jovial tones. His hands searched his face until they met with his silver-framed glasses atop his forehead.

"What? - Are you finally exhausted out of your mind?" Arthur taunted, sipping his tea before continuing, snapping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, filling his lungs with the scent of herbs right quick. "The bed last night was awfully empty."

"I know."

"Are you saying you want to make up for it? - I'm not tired."

"Sure," The American agreed brightly, as if nothing was wrong. That stupid smile crossing his lips. Arthur frowned in apprehension, in disappointment, almost forming a grimace over his features. "That sounds nice. You're on break anyway, aren't you?"

So he _had_ listened. He thought it went entirely unnoticed.

"But that would be wasting the day away...I'd prefer a walk." Arthur reasoned, drifting his emerald eyes nowhere, seeking anything alluring.

"But then I would be the one alone in bed: I won't be joining you on your walk." Alfred remarked as if it were obvious fact. He provoked a disenchanted sigh from the latter who took one last sip of his tea before returning it to its coaster.

"Then we've run into a dilemma." He claimed noncommittally, digging his knuckles into his hips, finally meeting gazes with the American. He bit his inner cheek.

"We could..." Alfred stopped himself short, busy in unorganised thoughts, making particular faces until it blanked of any wrinkles upon something he considered brilliant. "Why not we cuddle first - _then_ take a walk?"

He truly did remind Arthur of an energetic puppy. A very annoying energetic puppy which he would ask himself everyday as to why he even adopted him.

"That defeats the purpose of my fatigue of staying indoors for such long and dreaded hours." The Englishman dismissed, his thick brows irked at the other's stupidity.

"Well gee - Way to shoot down my awesome idea, Artie." Alfred huffed ardently, crossing his arms over his chest. "What could _you_ possibly suggest that's better than mine?"

"I could think of a million things," Arthur chuckled dryly at his self-proclaimed clever remark "But that would require time in which I don't intend to outspread for any amount here."

"You hate me, don't you?"

"I'll just take a walk..." At the sudden decision, Arthur abandoned his tea and swept up to the front door of their flat. Alfred hastily scrambled after.

"Whoa, hey – Let's not jump to conclusions here, dude." Alfred supplied, trying to be convincing, adding in a pathetic charming smile. "W-We – You haven't even finished your –"  
>He watched in dismay as Arthur slipped on his shoes. He continued in fretful suggestions<p>

"I-I think I deserve a cuddle, man. Just quit it and listen."

His moans proved inferior as Arthur stood erect, adjusting into his shoes and fishing into his pocket to make sure everything was in check.

"But while I'm away, you could finish your paperwork – You're almost done, as it would appear." The Englishman dismissed nonchalantly, pleased to find his house key safe in his pocket before heading toward the door, disregarding the other's presence. Upon thumbing over the lock, he was shocked into stillness; newly applied heat meeting his backside. His face immediately met the colour of roses as a hand forced him away from the knob.

"Come on, Artie," Alfred begged in his ear, pressing in closer like some persistent child. A horrendously huge child "I have loads more work in my briefcase and in the trunk of my car: You even said a break every now and again is good for me."

"I-It's called a 'boot,' you nob," Arthur corrected on impulse, as if to bend it into a distraction. "And although I said that – and it's true – our needs can't be appeased at the same time. I hope you realise that - and get the hell off me!"

Alfred only nuzzled his face into the crook of Arthur's hot neck longingly, moaning into it as if it could win the Englishman's pity. The cold frame of the American's glasses dug into the other's exposed skin behind his cotton flannel collar, almost wincing until catching himself.

"Surely you need a good stretch as well, wanker!" Arthur stressed, elbowing at the American's side in blind rage.

"But I'm tired." Alfred bemoaned, slipping his arms round his mate, squeezing the worry out of him – to no avail: Arthur wriggled nonetheless.

"Spare me, you blighter!" He hissed, desperately squirming about, searching for any weak spots to set his escape. "I have needs, too, blast it – It's not all about _you_."

"Could you do it just this once – pl_eeeeaase_? Just this once – I'm crying here, man!"

"You're such an incessant child! Release me at once!"

Alfred only hugged tighter, choking him. He pressed his face harder against the man's skin.

"Not until at least... ten minutes of cuddle-time." He offered without much consideration.

"'Ten minutes?'" The other echoed, dubious and spiteful "That's hardly enough even for you."

"I'm tired: I'll fall asleep right when my body slams into the bed. Ten minutes will come easy."

"But wouldn't that defeat the purpose of me joining you?"

"But that's the thing: You'll be with me as I sleep, making up for the fact that you were all by your lonesome last night."

"So you _do_ want to make up that lost time – I knew it from the very beginning." Arthur decided, convinced of his cleverness. His pride drained when his feet no longer held the ground. His breath hitched until it formed into a peeved grunt.

"Quit moving: I'm going to drop you." Alfred demurred pointedly as he targeted his destination, closing in toward it while fighting Arthur's resistance.

"That's the bleedin' _point_, you berk!" The Englishman barked, kicking his legs about, hoping to jab into something important. Even if he did manage, the pain went unnoticed as they entered Arthur's bedroom, his bed still disarrayed from his awakening. Haphazardly, Arthur landed face-first into the cool mattress. A long-winded groan of disappointment escaped him, muffled by fabric until he lifted himself up.

"You know, I don't appreciate—"

"_Aww_ - Come on Artie," Alfred hummed delightfully as he tossed himself onto the Englishman, barrelling them both over until their bodies fit together comfortably chest-to-back, facing the wall opposite. He slinked his arms tightly round the man's chest protectively, nuzzling his face into the man's nape affectionately. "Just ten minutes – Remember that."

"Shouldn't you be asleep right now?" Arthur discerned in hints of sarcasm, his body still tense as ever, not willing to ease.

"But wouldn't it be...I don't know – romantic or something to indulge in the moment?" The American murmured through thoughts, his breath running warm across the Englishman's shoulder.

"So you _do_ have ulterior motives. What else is new?" He huffed with venomous sarcasm, completely flushed over.

"'Ulterior motives?' Nonsense. I just want to spend some time with you. Is that too much to ask?" Alfred turned his face down casually, his eyelashes tickling the other's skin playfully.

Arthur didn't respond. He was fuming. The bridge of his nose begged to be pinched until a visible mark shown obvious.

"And how long have we been living together anyway? You're still as stubborn from when we first moved in."

Truly stunning: Alfred actually remembered something that far back. Arthur wryly smiled to himself: just another reminder that Alfred really does have a brain in that presumably empty head of his.

"That doesn't necessarily signify that I'm used to you from tip to toe." Arthur muttered spitefully, focusing nowhere.

"Dude, we sleep in the same bed. Surely you're used to me." From under his chin, Alfred could feel the satisfactory heat of embarrassment.

"It's not like we have a spare room..." Arthur countered, displeased by this utter closeness. His saying was final; left unacknowledged as the body wrapped round his turned limp. Truly impressive: Alfred really can fall asleep as quick as a wink. Although when something soft and damp pressed against his flesh, Arthur's conclusion flipped negative. Even if he was fully aware of teeth grazing over him, lips hugging him, tongue savouring him: he didn't except it to work so promptly. The Englishman adjusted awkwardly, somewhat displeased, preferring what was meant to be expected than what he was apprehending.

He wedged his palms at the arms smuggling his waist as his thick brows furrowed in growing frustration, finding no avail of release.

"Alfred, please-" Arthur beseeched bitterly, desiring peace. The mouth by his ear shushed him instead.

"I'm trying to take my ten minute nap."

"In means of slobbering over my shoulder? Get off me."

"I'm tired," The man squeezed longingly, rocking Arthur within his arms, pressing a smile to his ear. "I wasn't doing anything of the sort."

"You're a terrible liar." The tips of his fingers pinched at the hairy arms of the American whose revenge came just as quick. His white teeth sunk into the skin he 'slobbered' over, sucking the flesh harshly as if it were chastisement. The Englishman hardly flinched, having only a frown plastered across his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" He whispered sharply over his shoulder.

"Trying to relax you: you're tense." Alfred explained softly. Arthur could just hear that stupid smile. "Besides, I want to make up for that massage."

"I'd prefer no gift returns." The Briton glowered, strictly pinching at the other. When heat seemed to settle, the man decided to change his mind, pushing himself up from his entrapment of arms, shoving at the other's shoulder, the American gently crying in a million questions.

"And I'd prefer to simply take my walk. I have my shoes on and everything-"

"You're wearing your jammy's, dude." Alfred, giggling, watched the Englishman stand facing away from the bed only to peer down at himself, the tips of his ears flared immediately in beet-red.

"Oh shut it, blasted American!" Arthur scolded over his shoulder, mildly searching the room for any proper clothes within his proximity, desiring not to hear Alfred's obnoxious laughter for being so careless. Unfortunately, Arthur keeps his things away where they should be. He mentally slapped himself, scowling his usual scowl. The American on the bed chuckled.

"You can always find clothes in a closet, Artie." He hummed delightfully, propping himself onto one elbow and resting his ear on his shoulder to watch the Englishman scurry about, searching meticulously for a good and proper uniform. He finally surfaced one until they clattered silently to the floor. Emerald eyes met sapphire.

"Ten minutes is thinning; take your shoes off and let's hit the hay."

Uh?

_POFF_

"Oi, let me go, wankar!" Arthur yelled; his cheek forced into the mattress by a strong hand. He felt his pyjama bottoms slide down his propped up thighs and he only wriggled more, desperate and irate.

"I guess foreplay isn't an option today," His voice was slick, disgusting; as his free hand smoothed over his victim's bum, sending horrid shocks up and down the Englishman's spine.

"I thought you flippin' well wanted a _nap_!" Arthur resounded. The back of his head slowly released. A long drag across his spine. He felt his shoes loosen and slip off, one by one, hearing the dreaded _thunk_ of each fall: only then did the man turn over and scramble off, pulling his bottoms up as his back pressed into the neighbouring wall.

"I do," Alfred agreed, crawling up into a fist in his face. "_Ow!_ What the _fuck_, dude?"

"I don't appreciate being manhandled nor do I appreciate being raped in my own blinkin' room!" The Englishman yelled; kicking at the other whose forearms shielded the front of his face.

"'Rape?' No, no, Artie: You got it all wrong—"

"How on bloody Earth can I misunderstand tha' situation?" He shouted hysterically, still kicking until his foot caught between two hands, pinching through his socks. Arthur wriggled his toes frantically, gritting his teeth imminent to shatter. It constantly slipped his mind that Alfred had always been quite strong...

"I'm tired, okay, man?" Alfred whined softly as if nothing bad happened, toes still restless beneath his fingers. He tried holding the other's eyes. "I thought it'd be nice – I mean: I've been working for so long and get nothing in return. A break like this would mean so much to me—"

"So my body will appease your selfish needs? I don't think so, you blighter." Arthur kicked his forgotten leg at the other's shoulder: no release. Instead, both his feet felt strangling hands and a face met his own, lips brushing against the tip of his nose. Arthur slammed his palm into the side of the American's face, watching it return as if it was never struck. His shimmering blue eyes flooded in distraught, shutting as their lips met to no reply.

"Just this once," Alfred murmured against the Englishman who kept his unruly reddened face stern as a nun, his emerald eyes glaring venomously at half-shut lids. Heat spiked throughout his body when something rubbed the tender spot between his legs. When did the bloody American get this close?

"I-I find this very much – ah, don't bite – unacceptable." Arthur complained gruffly, shoving at the other's shoulders, watching him only return with more passion filling his every movement.

"I know you don't like this," The American stroked the bulge beneath the length of his fingers "You're already hard anyway. No sense stopping..."

"That's – ah – not the point. You're violating my personal space..." He gave another inferior shove at the other man's shoulders, his pale lips taken too quickly, unwanted heat coursing through him.

"I don't see you objecting—"

"What's a fist to the face mean to you, anyway?"

"You're really asking for it, man." A crude smile smeared across his lips as they embraced the other's firmly and openly, molesting the fleshy wet interior hidden behind a crooked white barrier. Feeling the Englishman's tension begin to ease like a tectonic plate, continuing to muscle his escape as hands cascaded throughout the map of troublesome clothes shielding an obviously needy body. Every inch of skin seemed to want to fight, almost exploding when those callused fingers caught into the underbelly of a night shirt.

Restless shoving, thinning the space between surface and edge of mattress, deploring moans echoing through merciless lungs. This battle had no remedy...

The unfortunate fall of articles of clothing, merging into the floor soundlessly like the butt of a gun striking upon sand. Quiet urgencies of rejection and the need for peace fell flat and forgotten as the friction between metals met like a cat encountering a dog.

The room flooded in misery; in pleasure; in torture. Morning sunlight peeked between the curtains, painting the room a yellow and orange tinge; their erupted shadows drew heavy and thick with each creak and groan of veto and ecstasy; of pain and desire.

He hated himself. He hated this man.

He couldn't control it. His body tight, reaching its high.

Release of its degrading discharge. Curses slipping past his throat like a brown river of filth.

His firm bundle of fingers crashing into a familiar cheek. Hearing a delightful heavy thud of a man colliding onto the ground below.

Revenge gave the Englishmen a poisonous apple and his willingness to use it stated higher than Jacob's Ladder.

A well-to-do shower and a hearty walk will clear his head.

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><p><strong><span>AN: **Hope you enjoyed this first chapter. And those who prefer UKUS will be pleased by the next chapter. C:

Reviews would be grand: I'd like to know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ten minutes my arse_, Arthur thought blearily when his emerald eyes finally opened to darkness. He removed the pillow from his ear and noticed, with pinhole irises, the yellow curtains across the room dimming the blaring sun. It must be the afternoon by now. Damn that American. He put the pillow back onto his face.

The Englishman sat up begrudgingly with a grunt, the pillow falling to his lap. A sharp pang thrust throughout his body. _Fuck_. He hissed. He weakly crawled across the expanse of the bed, peeking over the top, hoping to see that blonde idiot surrounded in a pool of crimson. No crimson. A frown met his lips. And he was stark naked from the waist down, too. A small laugh ran between dry teeth.

He didn't want to move. It hurt to move. But that well-to-do shower sounded so tempting... Ten minutes. Ten minutes would be enough. It could wait.

...No. Be responsible. _You're better than him._

Stupid bloody feet – naked, thanks to that pillock – nudged into the plush floor, soundlessly made their way across the map, toward the door-frame. His cold tea sat abandoned as the Englishman passed, forcing out the acknowledgement of his limp toward the bathroom.

The door ran smooth over carpet with a click. The squeak of the tap. Water punching into the ceramic of the tub. It flooded his ears. He needed this. His fingers tested the temperature. His other fingers tested his arse, rubbing it like a fresh bruise.

Stupid bloody clothing; corrupted, tainted and stained. Thrown to the floor and shot at with glares heavy with malice.

Water would sooth his wounds. It never failed him yet.

A hefty sigh rolled out of his extended throat curtained in warmth.

He bloody-well deserved this.

...

Giving his damp sandy blonde tresses a hearty shake under a greying towel, Arthur limped out into the living room, his eyes of emerald blaring upon that git sitting hunched over his desk. At least he had the decency to put trousers on. The smell of sex probably still lingered on him. Idiot.

Arthur dodged past him, knowing he would go unnoticed, entered his room and fixed himself up. He returned, heading straight for the front door arrayed in a sleeveless olive hoodie (perhaps a bit too small for him) over a thin tight black V-neck shirt, and royal blue jeans giving him just enough room.

"Don't forget shoes."

"Got them."

Who was he to remind the Englishman to grab his shoes? A man of duty never forgets his things.

"Keys?"

_Oh shut it_.

Slamming the door, hands jammed into his pockets. He was tired of this place. He was tired of Alfred. He was tired of his own unwanted commitment to that man's bloody intentions. Violating him in his own room, his own flat. Sick: it was sick. And the blighter just brushes it off his shoulder and continues to work as if nothing happened. What a piss-ant! He's dealing with another human being. His intentions are inhumane, unjust! And Arthur simply let it happen. No – That's wrong. He couldn't help the situation. It was out of his reach. He couldn't help it...

He mentally slapped himself as he entered the heat, the sun high above the clouds. No breeze. No birds chirping, unlike in England. This place was too busy. Like Alfred. Too busy. Too frustrating.

Joining a mob of faceless figures across the street, Arthur wedged past their plump shoulders, their stress, and ghosted through the clumpy sidewalks, searching for peace. It would be best. He could settle things there.

Not a single tree in sight. Wind blustering and weaving between the tall expanses of buildings. Not one sound felt natural. Cars, horns blaring, leather shoes tapping at concrete or tile, people chattering; hollering, battles of construction pervading; echoing. Such an unnatural mess. England was the better alternative. Always has been. Why Arthur decided to follow Alfred was beyond him. It was almost on whim, anyway. "There will be beautiful American girls in New York", he said. The only girls Arthur saw were either anorexic bints or round-as-the-moon munters.

Sure Arthur liked girls. He's just a bit picky about his women. Must be shorter than he, must be curvaceous, soft, sweet, able to cook well, know how to make a splendid brew... _Mustn't want to rape him..._ - He's a gentleman, after all, and should treat his lady as if she were the very priest chosen by God. Although God must have fumbled in His line of work when He chose Alfred to be his roommate...

Blast it!

_Think of something else, you bloody nob..._

His footfalls ended upon grass. He peeked up and found himself in a manmade forest surrounded by a sea of skyscrapers. Car horns were distant and anonymous chatter went mute. Birds lay in lush trees and insects buzzed about.

Arthur strolled through it, mentally smiling at the smidgen of hope. He came across a little concrete bridge over a little blue river. Passing trees dangling chains of gold, the Englishman leaned over the rail and watched a rainbow of petals waft onto the flowing water's surface. He could just make out his obscured reflection down below.

_I remember this place. Back when I first came to live here. Alfred toured me everywhere. He was so excited like a dog wanting to take a walk after a long and boring day..._

No. Mustn't think of him like that. He's a sinner. He's worthless.

He's a rapist. He deserves punishment. But how...

Arthur looked up and scanned the sky so blue. _Just like his eyes..._

Just like his blasted bruise on the side of his face.

Revenge is perfect punishment.

...

"I'm back." Arthur muttered into the stagnant air, shutting the door behind him, slipping off his shoes. As usual, he met with silence. He entered the living room, discovering his tea still on the coffee table. He zipped his hoodie down as he approached the workaholic, peeking over his shoulder and finding nothing new or out of place.

"Did you miss me?" The Englishman asked dryly, not expecting an answer. He slipped out of his jacket, went into his room and stored it, returning, pinching his tea and entering the kitchen, draining the cup and stocking it into the sink.

"Glad to hear it..." He murmured sarcastically upon his returned, arms crossed over his stomach. He scanned over the tan body in front of him. "Aren't you cold?"

"Summer."

"Oh, it speaks." Frowning, Arthur lightly flicked the back of the American's head. The man scratched at it.

"Don't: I'm working..." He quickly fumbled for his pen and returned writing.

"Pardon me," The Englishman said mock apologetically. He stepped behind the office chair and leaned into Alfred's ear "We don't chat much."

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Because you work too bloody much and I'm not willing to talk your ear off."

"Can't multitask, moron."

"Git."

"Dickbutt."

"Wanker."

"Work."

"I win."

"Bitch."

He slapped the back of his head again. The man giggled and continued writing.

"Anyway...so, uh...Where have you been? Where'd you go?" Alfred inquired tastelessly, scribbling away. Arthur rolled his eyes at his attempt. He answered anyway, liking where this was heading.

"One of the first places you took me ever: Central Park."

"Oh yeah..." Alfred hummed delightfully and stopped writing. "We shared our first kiss there, too, right?"

"Don't blooming-well remind me." Arthur muttered spitefully, crossing his arms below his ribs. The American popped his head over the seat and gazed at the Englishman, smiling widely.

"Can't get over it, huh Arty?" His chair swivelled round a bit, facing Arthur who refused to make eye contact. "Remember when you fell off the side of the bri—"

"Don't you have work to do?" Arthur snapped, glancing at Alfred's crown.

"Didncha want to talk with me more often?" His grin only grew cheekier. "I don't even know how you managed to fall off a high railed bridge."

"Shut it, you blasted Yank!"

Alfred fully faced Arthur, a death-grip on either armrest. He wheeled over until Arthur could glare down at him.

"How about when we first got this apartment? - you and the landlord were hilarious. She asked if we were a couple—"

"I remember that, yes – now can we move on?" Arthur said concisely through gritted teeth, squeezing his torso.

"Move on to what? What else is there to move on to?" Alfred paused a moment until a bright and shrewd smile washed over his face.

"_No_." Arthur answered the unspoken question.

"I didn't say anything, Limey," He leaned closer impishly. "But what'd you think I was going to say?"

"Something stupid. Now you really ought to get back to work."

"Nuh-uh, dude," Alfred went to grab at Arthur's wrists, instead the man stepped back, placed his foot on Alfred's seat between his legs and shoved. He helplessly skidded backward until he collided into the desk. Papers floundered about and his pen plopped to the floor. In devastation, the American looked up at Arthur who stood emotionless between fluttering pages, watching them fall with little interest.

"Fuck!" Alfred yelled despairingly at the mess and then the Englishman. "Fuck you!"

"Not my fault you stack your paperwork." Arthur retorted easily, standing his ground in a gentlemanly fashion.

"You were the one who pushed me into the desk!" Alfred loudly accused, trying to collect as many papers as possible.

"You were the one who tested my temper."

"I don't deserve this. I work hard every day and this is how I'm rewarded? Picking up a mess that isn't mine?"

"It has your name on it, technically."

"Exactly! '_Technically_' is the keyword, buttmunch." Alfred haphazardly placed mounds of paper back atop the desk, immediately going down for more in frustration.

"It's just a few misplaced papers. I think you ought to quit complaining and deal with it. Tisn't the end of the world."

Alfred turned around rapidly. "Don't say that, you motherfucker. This is coming from _you_ who hardly works his ass off as much as I do."

"I'm on break, I hope you know."

"Shut up! Shut up with your smart-ass comments! I have a deadline coming up and these papers need to be in order numerically! Unless you can help me – which I predict you won't – I think I could get this stupid thing done a whole fucking lot faster."

Arthur didn't respond for a moment. A thick brow twitched. He lowered his voice.

"Fine. Do you really want my help?"

"That'd be peachy perfect, actually." Alfred said sarcastically, pressing his lips together tightly, expectantly.

"Then take back last night."

Alfred stared at him incredulously.

"You're still on about that shit? It was just sex, pipe down."

"No, it was rape. I'm still bloody sore." Arthur emphasised the notion, pointing all fingers toward his arse.

"Okay then how can I take it back, huh?" Alfred asked as if the answer blinked above his head in a huge bright neon sign. "Kiss your ass and wish it better? Apologise? I can't take back that sort of—"

"Let me top for once." Arthur answered seriously, not even a twitch. Alfred gave him a wide-eyed glare until he burst out into laughter.

"F-Fuck you, that's impossible." He blurted out through hyena-like laughter, bending over in his seat and holding his knees.

"Do you want my help or not?"

His laughter immediately died. He glared at Arthur, mouthing soundless questions, his eyes twitching in confusion.

"Pitiful." Arthur spat.

"Could you make it within ten minutes?"

"I'll take my flippin' time, bastard."

Alfred scanned the now white floor in consideration. When he paused to peek, the Englishman pointed a rigid finger at his bedroom.

"Bed." Arthur stated callously. The Yank blinked tightly, trying to compute.

"...J-Just give me a second—"

"We'd be done fixing your workload by now if you'd simply think faster..." Arthur hummed while he approached his door, stripping his shirt off casually. "It's awfully lonely in here, you know." He called out once he sat on his bed and tossed the shirt behind him as if it were rubbish.

Alfred smiled in defeat, shaking his head. "You're a prick."

"Since when has the _almighty_ Alfred ever refused sex?"

The American rolled his eyes to the faceless voice. He stood, launching his seat behind him, picked up an idle piece of paper, placed it neatly onto the disarrayed pile and finally approached Arthur's room. The dirty blonde sat half naked as if he were alone but waiting. Alfred smiled as if this was a crazy preparation for a death stunt. He unzipped his trousers until the man on the bed shook his head and stood up, approaching him.

"Allow me." Arthur proposed lowly, hooking two fingers round the man's trouser hem and yanked. He steered the blonde chap toward the bed, facing him and pecking the tip of his nose before tipping him back softly into the sheets. Arthur followed closely behind, cradling his victim with his feet dangling off the edge alongside Alfred's.

"Just making sure," Arthur whispered, staring down at the American's awkward countenance. "Do you really want this? Are you really in the mood?"  
>Alfred scoffed as if this were all but a simple prank. Where did they hide the camera?<p>

"'Am I in the mood'?" He mirrored incredulously with a funny face. "If I supposedly 'raped' you, then wouldn't that mean it's your turn now?"

The Englishman chuckled lightly, shaking his head at the former's nonsense.

"Such a pillock," He sighed, smiling, "I'm a gentleman, remember? I'm not an animal, like you."

"Time's a-tickin', mofo," Alfred teased "Start off with a kiss or something – like I do."

"No – You molest first, have sex, then kiss. You're not exactly a role model."

Fuck it.

A hand forced their lips to meet, passionate but resistant. Arthur peeled away before things could go wrong and clicked his tongue in disapproval. He slid his hands across the American's arms until their fingers met and meshed, pinning them into the white sheets, easing them near either ear. Half-lidded eyes gazed laxly over this man, scanning his pale pink lips before plunging onto them with his own. The former moaned approvingly, smiling beneath their embrace. He opened up and allowed tongue to explore and met with another, dancing until it felt forced.

The Englishman retracted, nipping at the other's bottom lip before sliding his hands down Alfred's arms, torso and hesitating at the single button left undone. Slowly, he eased the fabric and ringed his fingers beneath the obstruction and pulled down. No undergarments. Just as he thought. The American lifted his hips slightly without permission and allowed his trousers to leave until teeth nipped at his inner thigh disapprovingly.

"This is faux rape," Arthur explained, leaning toward Alfred who smirked slyly, bringing his thigh with him by the crook of his knee. "I'm behind the wheel, sir."

He kissed him once and moved them down again until he met belly button, nipping the skin which immediately drew back and he heard a pure spell of laughter before he flushed lightly and leaned away.

"I'm totally not ticklish." Alfred lied, pressing a finger to his brow in embarrassment. The suffusion to the Englishman's cheeks drained and instead a cheeky smirk surfaced.

"Fuck you," The American laughed softly, "Just fucking blow me already."

A single thick brow twitched in interest. The corner of his mouth tugged high. "'Blow you'? I'm not sure I'm that amazing."

"Cut the British crap and give me head." He ran his fingers through sandy blonde tresses, gripped the roots and pulled down. Arthur's cheek rubbed down the man's shaft, feeling its warmth until he sprang up, shaking his head.

"I'm the driver, remember?" He reminded the American, closing in on his face. "Keep it up and I'm moving back to England."

An arm ringed round his neck and pulled him in with care.

"No." Childish, but it made Arthur smile warmly and press it against the American whose response was minute but delectable. He tenderly bit the man's beckoning lower lip, pulling away and letting it drop, hungrily going back in for more.

Their lower halves cradled passionately. Moving in rhythm, stirring excitement. Fingers drew to useless trousers and unbuttoned them, sliding them down. _It was okay._ They kissed like nothing else mattered. Like nothing lived beyond the sheets.

Their pelvises were together, finally on good terms, warm and wanting. Hands rubbed well across tan skin, mapping over wonderful curves, smoothly shifting down, swirling a massaging finger on the edge of his naked hip and holding it, caressing it. Hesitating.

He mouthed 'Are you sure?'

The Yankee gripped the man's shy wrist and pulled down. He mouthed 'I dare you.'

Take the plunge.

Be a tease.

He pinched his cheeks and he giggled like before.

Do it. He's waiting.

His finger crawled closer like a body in quicksand.

They kissed as it went in slow. He moaned as he withdrew and returned smoothly, tightening over him. Frightened?

Deeply. Thicker. Faster. Almost... So close...

Right there.

They shared smiles as if they landed on the moon together. He escaped and adjusted, nipping the Yank's shoulder and neck, steadying a certain beat to his hands rolling through maps of utterly naked skin. They were welcomed, swept up in the motion and delighted. He kissed his ear and when his head lifted, he pecked his chin.

Gently. Steadier. Closer. Almost...

And he plunged. Slowly. Smoothly. Nicely. Like a gentleman.

The Yankee breathed thickly and hotly, brushing into the Englishman's neck before licking it. Arthur lifted away, displeased, and sunk deeper in, wishing for a melody. Faster. He bit into the man's neck where it was familiar on his own. _Slobbering baboon..._  
>The man's breath fluttered over his ear and was satisfied. Then he jabbed his tongue into it. Arthur jerked away and sneered at a sloppy grin, forcing a dry peck to his toughened cheek. <em>Revenge. Revenge. Revenge...<em>

A bit of premature pounding and the Yank strung onto his breath and winced as if a blade pierced his heart. The Englishman smirked. _Winner._

The man clung tightly round the other's neck, bracing himself, adjusting at every entrance. Feeling himself gradually dense between his hips; hot, tense, curdling with the want for more. His nails dug into the man's shoulder. Deeper. Dots of crimson.

It fucking hurt.

Arthur rejected any silent pleas for safety and peace. 'You're a grown man. Deal with it.' He pushed further. Hips and arse connected. Alfred suppressed a pained moan horribly. 'Never been dominated though, I suppose.'

_Shut up..._

Uncontrollable shudders. Almost there. Numbing toes. Shortness of breath...

Steady...

'That's fine. Quite all right with me.'

He tensed and clung to the Englishman desperately. _Just do it_. The entire bed shook and squeaked dangerously. _Oh God._

Fuck. Fuckfuck_fuckfuckfuck_-

Their lips met powerfully. Sucking them hard. Take a breather, release. Go, go, go. Keep going. Don't hesitate.

He squeezed the man between him until his legs broke apart wide. He almost let out a scream of pure pain. The ear near his mouth caught the squeak. The quakes occurred too fast.

He knew he was about to burst. Hold it. He can't. Just...No. _Fuck._

...

Too hot. Too raw. Too messy.

A finger played with the white mess across his stomach. Failing to hold in his laughter ̶ A tongue raced over his tender skin. Trailing down, kissing the man's tip.  
>Arthur pulled away, smirking.<p>

"Oh no," Alfred shook his head. "You're not just going to leave me like this."

"'Fraid so, love." He slid a hand over the American's manhood teasingly. The man quivered slightly. Arthur hopped off the side of the bed, pleased, grabbing on a pair of boxers. "It's bitter, isn't it?"

"Fuck you, man," Alfred sat up with blurry vision and watched the man dress himself, quickly leading his hand down to his own shaft. "I'll just...do it myself."

Arthur peeked over his shoulder, pulling up a pair of trousers. "How about your work, though? Isn't that important, too?"

He didn't respond. Arthur shook his head, rolling his eyes, buttoning himself up.

"Going to take a break?"

Nothing.

"Procrastinate?"

"_Fuck._"

White hands. Arthur smirked, turned, and left the room. Shuffling pages before the American could situation himself, entering the room and watching the other clear the floor.

"At least put some boxers on for Christ's sake." Arthur glowered, thumbing through the pile of papers in his hands. "And wash yourself."

Alfred simply shook his head and helped the Englishman instead.

"At least promise me you won't work as hard – for future reference."  
>Alfred sort of nodded, understanding.<p>

"I like having a chat with you every now and again, you know."

"I know." His award-winning goofy smile and everything was determined. Arthur couldn't help but return a smile.

_Childish as ever._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I'll admit while writing this - and this is why it took so bloody long - I got frustrated while trying to find motivation to continue this fic. My obsession for Hetaria has burned out and my motivation to finish Frustration was at bare minimum. I'm surprised it's even here.

Thank you for reading. I hope you like it though. :)_  
><em>


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